Subliminal Charm
by Deej1
Summary: Subliminal charm, the anti-hero with mental powers.
1. Chapter 1

I stepped out of the University library into the brisk night air of Metropolis. The flood lights were still on around the buildings but most of the students had left hours ago. The smart people were home by now. I was studying and had lost track of the time. I was also not reknowned for being smart.

I followed the bright lights out of the campus and into the carpark. It took longer than cutting through the shadows but it was infinitely safer. I found my car in the front corner of the parking lot. I'd parked in the disabled spot and it looked like I'd already gotten a ticket. As frustrating as this was, I considered it small fry compared to being knifed trying to get to the opposite side of the carpark after dark. This didn't stop me muttering and wondering why the Metropolis police department didn't feel they had more important things to do than give generally law-abiding citizens parking tickets.

I grabbed the ticked off the windscreen then looked at my car and shuddered. My car is a 1970s Mercury bobcat. Once upon a time it's colour was bright red. Years and rust had whittled it down to a flaky drab brick colour. The front bumper was dinted and the rear one was hanging off to one side. It backfired and stalled more often than it started, and growled like a choking lion. There were graffiti tags on the driver's side door.

Every day I came out into the parking lot and prayed it had been stolen. No one was stupid enough to oblige me.

I wrenched open to drive side door with a squeel and started her up on the fifth attempt. I careened out of the lot and raced her through the orange on the next set of traffic lights, hoping to avoid a stall. It wouldn't hurt to get home soon either. The light was fading and dusk was settling in. It was a bad time to be out. Only the crazies were on the streets after dark.

It was a hot summer evening and the bobcat had no aircon so I wound down a window and prayed for a breeze. I was still sweating like a pig halfway down the freeway and instead of feeling cooler, my hair was windblown, messy and plastered to my face. I'd been having hot sweats for weeks so I couldn't tell if it was just me or the weather. Maybe I was going through early menopause. I should probably see a doctor about that, but doctor's cost money.

By the time I got home it was completely dark. I parked my car in the street and did a cursory lock of my car before hightailing it through the main door of my apartment complex.

My neighbourhood is in worse shape than my car. The street sign is missing and has been for the five months I've lived here, but I understand it's most graciously known at Smith Street. Smith Street falls in the back lots of Metropolis. It sits next to the slums and is gradually being overtaken by them. The pavement is cracked, the streetlights flicker and the road has enough resurfacing patches to look like a jigsaw puzzle.

Still, I hurried for the main door of my apartment complex less out of fear for my safety and more out of mortal embarrassment of anybody recognising me and realising the bobcat was my car.

This is definitely not my first choice of residence nor my preferred transportation but it's hard to be picky on a student budget.

Five months ago I was residing on Johnson Street in a perfectly respectable part of town. I didn't struggle to pay rent and I didn't have to skimp on the food bill just to make ends meet. Of course I was living with my boyfriend Kenny the Plumber who was helping pay bills whilst I went through law school. The theory was once I got through I'd have oodles of money to return the favour.

Then one night Kenny discovered he was special. Kenny could peel potatoes with his eyes. He could make french fries in less than two minutes and eat them in half that time. I guess that kind of stuff constitutes a superhero. Who wouldn't want a super power like that?

Of course these days Kenny trained his supersight on bag snatchers, petty criminals and occasionally the wall of the girl's changing room at the gym. The women in the girl's changing room were rarely concerned, since being a superhero was of course akin to being a god. More superheros were being born every day, but that didn't stop their popularity.

Suddenly Kenny the Plumber had more blondes dripping off him than a team of footballer's wives.

I couldn't fault Kenny for helping me through my first year of law school. However I did still feel pretty sore about being kicked out into the street on my ass when he realised he didn't need me anymore. I suppose he did me a favour really, demonstrating what an ass he really was before I could do something stupid. Like marry the bastard...

I guess when anybody can be a superhero, it leaves some room for some of the remedial personalities to slip through the cracks. Somebody should have told the superheros what a turd they were getting.

But those times of financial and residential security were over and quite frankly I hoped I'd never see Kenny again.

The lobby light in my apartment building was flickering and the super was nowhere in sight. The lift was out of order but this had never surprised me. Nothing on Smith Street was in order.

I live on the second floor. I slunk up the stairs past the drug dealers on the first floor landing and old Mrs. Flanderstine passed out in a drunken stupor on the second. She issued a moan while I fumbled with my keys and all seven deadlocks on my apartment door.

I didn't see much point in helping Mrs. Flanderstine. The first night I had tried, she'd stolen my wallet. The second night she'd thrown up on my jacket. After that, I wasn't sure if I was really helping. She'd only be there again tomorrow night.

I got inside, sank into the couch and congratulated myself. I'd made it home safe, my car hadn't broken down (which was as unfortunate as it was fortunate) and my television and dvd player were still there and hadn't been stolen. All in all a rather successful day I thought.

There was a knock on the door so I got up and spotted Donnie though the peep hole. Donnie lived in the apartment next door. He had orange-red hair, a solid personality, and he was a copper.

He was holding up a pizza box up to the peep-hole. It steamed up the glass meaning it was fresh and hot.

Donnie is the one light in my life.

I flicked the deadbolts and both chains and let Donnie in. He was grinning as he came through the door, "You watching the game?"

"Yes," I lied, and flicked the channel, "Donnie I love you!"

"Yeah right," he said, handing me the pizza box. I opened it up to a whiff of large Supremo with extra beef and exhaled with pleasure. Donnie plonked on the couch and turned up the volume on the game. I didn't bother to ask who was winning. His team always lost.

For five months, every Friday night without missing a beat, I could count on Donnie to come over with pizza and bribe the use of my television. Donnie didn't have a television. I guess he was worse off than I am in that regard. I didn't wonder how that happened on a policeman's salary, because I knew.

Besides the fact that the Metropolis City police were paid bubkiss, Donnie also had an ex-wife called Valerie.

And Valerie had Donnie's house, his car and his fifty inch television. By the sound of the screaming matches they still regularly had either on the phone or in person, I gathered she also still had Donnie's nuts in her french nail polished claws.

Donnie had come into my life at the exact right time to truly demonstrate to me the abject hopelessness of romantic relationships. He'd been out there standing in the hall when I'd moved in, and helped me lug my furniture up two flights of stairs when I was only a stranger. Within minutes we had discovered a mutual dissatifaction with our prior relationships and an eerily similar slovenly attitude towards evenings in front of the television munching on junk food. As far as I was concerned, it was a best friend match made in heaven.

Not to mention in this part of town it couldn't hurt to have a cop living next door.

Donnie stayed until his team lost. He bitched about the umpires and the scoreboard, and I nodded and made sympathetic noises as if I understood the rules of football and was capable of forming an opinion. Then I fed him icecream straight out of the tub with a spoon and told him it would go straight to his waist. Donnie told me sugar was a great weapon in the fight against evil before sauntering back to his apartment. It was our little Friday night ritual.

At about 3am my car alarm went off. This surprised me greatly. I'd had to have it installed to keep my insurance, and I really wanted to keep my insurance. When someone was finally stupid enough to steal my car, my insurance was going to buy me a new one.

Of course I usually forgot to turn the damn thing on. In some ways I was noncommittal to the whole car alarm concept, having given up months ago on the possibility of anyone taking my car. I wasn't sure if I was more surprised that my car alarm had been triggered, or that somebody had actually tried to steal my car.

Within seconds, two more car alarms started up and added to the cacophany. The noise blared through the neighbourhood scaring dogs and startling strays.

I got up and tried to check through my bedroom window bars if it actually was my car. Unfortunately the angle was wrong and it was too difficult to tell from the second story. _Damn_. I contemplated whether I should go down to the street and turn off the alarm.

I didn't want to stay here and try and sleep through three car alarms, but even if I turned mine off that was no guarantee that the other two owners would. Going out into the streets at night was a bad idea. The risk of getting mugged, raped or murdered was signicantly higher than during the daylight hours, especially in the slums. My house and my car and my life were a tragedy but I still had enough sense to desire avoiding criminal bodily harm.

In the end, going outside won out, but just barely. I decided whatever was out on the street would be less scary than my neighbours tomorrow morning on no sleep and armed with the knowledge that it was my car that had been the cause of their temperament.

I padded to the door in my pink and blue pajamas. I popped my door keys in my pajama pocket but left my phone and my wallet in doors. Even if I'd had one, I wouldn't have taken a weapon. Any valuables I had on me were likely to get stolen and any weapons would probably just be used against me. I figured there's nothing like losing your pride whilst being beaten over the head with your own baseball bat.

The stairs were studiously quiet, filled with the emptiness of a building full of people pretending to be asleep or otherwise too engaged to see what the commotion was. I opened the front door cautiously and stared out at the street.

There was a group of young metalheads to my right. Some of them were lounging around the doorway of the neighbouring building and one was sitting on top of the car next to mine. He was tossing a tennis ball in the air.

The whole lot boasted multiple tattoos and enough piercings to give a security metal detector a melt down. I reminded myself that none of these things made them bad people and edged out onto the street towards my poor little Mercury. The alarm wailed desperately like a frightened child.

One of the metalheads in the doorway saw me and stretched his arms up lazily. He was decked out in black leather with buckles and spikes. There was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He couldn't have been more than nineteen.

"What have we got here?" he asked leisurely.

Suddenly all eyes turned to me. I held up my car keys as if they might be a shield between me and the darkness.

"Just shutting off the alarm," I apologised.

The metalhead kid smiled at me. I really didn't like his smile.

"Pretty lady," he said, and started walking towards me. I took a few steps back around the car, trying to put it between me and him, and mentally calculated my odds of reaching the apartment complex door safely. The odds did not come up in my favour.

By the time he was a few steps away I'd decided to risk it anyway and bolted for the stairs. I barely got two steps before he whipped me around and pinned me front first against my own car. The alarm kept pitifully wailing.

Mr. Metalhead had my hands pinned at my back. He leaned in towards me, neck spikes sticking into my skin, and brushed the hair from the side of my face.

"I like your pajamas girly," he whispered into my right ear.

"Thanks." I really hoped that he was just after money and would be more understanding when he discovered I had none. I seriously doubted my luck would turn in that direction.

Metalhead's spare hand whisped over my behind and further down towards other places. The lump in my throat became dry like the Sahara desert.

He was just padding me down for valuables, right?

"How 'bout I show you a man," he said just before I heard the distinct sound of a fly being unzipped. I guess today had not been a good day to tempt fate.

"Why," I said, before I could think, "Do you know one?"

"Very funny." He even sounded amused, but I guess he could afford to be. He clearly had the upper hand.

He dropped his cigarette on the pavement. It flickered and started dying.

"You should remove your hands before you do something you regret," I warned, but it came out sounding pathetic and strangled. At this point I figured my only hope was to wait for one of our newly contrived superheros to magically appear out of the shadows and save me from my impending doom.

Of course, superheroes couldn't be everywhere and my luck wasn't holding well tonight.

For a second I contemplated what I'd do if Kenny the Plumber showed up. God I did not want to be saved by Kenny the Plumber. I might almost prefer to be murdered and strung up to the lamp post, left dangling over my car. That sounded more fun.

Thinking about Kenny only got me pissed off. Ok I might not have brought much income in whilst studying, but I spent years cooking and cleaning and scraping his drunken ass up off the floor. Not to mention the three years of working in a dingy down town cafe on minimum wage.

Kenny was a slime and he could burn in hell for all I cared.

There was a little whoosh of something catching alight and suddenly Mr. Metalhead shouted in alarm in my ear. He pushed himself away from me, shoving me into my car door as he did.

I did a 360 and found him jumping up and down on the sidewalk. His pant legs were on fire, and it was licking its way up to his jacket. He was beating at the flames rather ineffectually. I checked myself over but I didn't appear to be burning.

"Shit," said one of the other metalheads through a doped up haze, "Stop, drop and roll dude."

Kenny took his advice and dropped to the pavement. He beat his arms around on the sidewalk to put out the flames.

"Freakin' bitch!" he shouted, "You burned me."

I _so_ did not. I had nothing to burn him with.

"You dropped your cigarette," I said, "You probably burned yourself."

"She got a point," said the guy on top of the car. Metalhead didn't look all that convinced. He looked pissed off. I started wondering what I was still doing standing there with my mouth hanging open.

A loud boom interrupted us before Metalhead could do anything else. I looked up to see Donnie in the doorway with the long barrel of a shotgun in his hands. He'd plastered on the serious, dead eyed look that all Metropolis City cops have.

"That was a warning shot," he said, "You boys don't get lost in the next twenty seconds, the next shot won't be a warning."

"Shit," said one of the punks in the door way and scrambled to his feet, "Why the cops always gotta rain on our good time."

Donnie pumped the handgrip of his weapon and pointed it at my attacker, "Piss off."

Mr. Metalhead responded by giving him the finger.

"Fuckin' coppers," he said, and started walking off with his gang, "You'll be sorry when me missus comes to play." I doubted Donnie would be too daunted by any Mrs. Metalhead. Donnie's ex-wife was virtually demonic. You couldn't get much scarier than that.

"Geez," he said, lowering the shotgun, "You ok."

"Yeah." I tried not to let the shaking of my body show in my voice, and failed, "Thanks."

"No worries. C'mon. Step away from that piece of shit car of yours and get inside." Donnie held out a hand.

"What this?" I faked surprise, looking at the bobcat, "That's not my car."

"Yeah right."

I gave up the fight and took a few step towards Donnie before remembering the alarm. It had been blaring in the background all this time and I'd completely forgotten about it. The noise had been drowned out by the sound of my heart drumming in my ears.

"Hold on a sec," I told Donnie, "Just let me turn off this alarm in the car that's not mine." He looked bemused but waited.

I crossed back over the street and unlocked the Mercury's door. I punched in the code to turn off the alarm. The other two cars in the neighbourhood kept beeping, but at least mine was sweetly silent.

Locking the car, I looked back up at Donnie and thought I heard a slight whining sound in the distance. Donnie had a frown on his face.

"What's that?" I had time to ask, before my car exploded in an enormous fireball.

The shock wave of the explosion sent Donnie flying down the street. It didn't do a damned thing to me and I was standing right next to it. Donnie landed with a thud against the side of a building and slid down next to a dumpster. He looked unconscious.

Pieces of my car clattered around me, spilling all over the sidewalk. The bobcat had been scrap heap before, and now it literally was.

I was about to go help Donnie when there was a vicious cackle behind me. I turned to see a woman in black spandex with a rocket launcher on her shoulder and a grin plastered to her face. Her hair was wild and untamed and her eyes matched her hair.

I took three guesses and came up with Mrs. Metalhead.

She cackled again and did a little power dance in the street. Then she hefted the launcher and pointed it back at Donnie.

I didn't know about reload, but I didn't think Donnie deserved this kind of ending. Besides he'd kinda been saving my butt.

I picked up a triangular piece of bobcat debri and hurled it at Mrs. Metalhead. I didn't really expect it to do much except divert her attention. It whizzed through the air and a landed pointy side with a thunk in her forehead. She blinked and blood started oozing down the side of her face.

Ick, I thought, blood. Then I applauded my car for being more useful in death than it ever was in life.

Mrs. Metalhead looked at me and growled. She was clearly one fry short of a happy meal and a blow to the head didn't appear to be slowing her down. She dropped her rocket launcher and launched herself at me instead.

We went tumbling to the ground, rolling over the debris of my Mercury. Mrs. Metalhead growled and snapped. A hyena worrying its prey. Her hands were around my throat trying to strangle me. I wanted to repay the kindness but she was wearing a spiky studded collar like her boyfriend.

I gasped and fumbled, trying desperately to get her off. Flailing my arms about didn't seem to be doing any good and I was quickly losing oxygen.

A few second more and I got my feet up underneath and kicked out at her stomach. Bitch-face was flung over the wreckage of my car and onto the pavement on the opposite side of the street. She lay on the ground, winded.

I blinked in surprise. I hadn't really wanted to do permanent damage, just wanted to get her off me. I wondered how she had moved so fast.

Mrs. Metalhead rolled and slid fluidly to her feet. She narrowed her eyes at me. I stood like a deer in headlights.

Like WTF mate?

Half a dozen shots rang out and I turned to find Donnie back on his feet. I couldn't see the shotgun but he was holding a handgun and sighting down the barrel at Mrs. Metalhead. He must have had the pistol tucked in his jeans when he'd come out earlier. He certainly hadn't been holding it.

He squeezed off a few more rounds. I'm pretty sure every single one hit our assailant square in the chest. Her eyes glazed over but other than that she barely blinked. I started mentally writing my will.

Donnie had cop-face again.

"Put your hands up," he shouted at bitch-face, "You're under arrest." I had the sudden fleeting thought that the real superheroes of Metropolis were the police officers. They were underbudgeted, understaffed, no special superhero abilities, and every day they faced the worst scum of the universe whilst dreadfully underpowered. In my world, Kenny the Plumber would always be toilet scum and Donnie the Cop the dishevelled superhero.

"You're starting to really annoy me," Miss crazy-eyes announced. Saliva went flying from her mouth when she talked. I wished she'd just leave us alone.

She picked up the launcher and hefted it over her shoulder. For a moment I thought she was going to fire it. I didn't know what happened to Donnie but I figured he'd run out of bullets.

Suddenly Mrs. Metalhead slackened. She lowered the rocket launcher and the fire went out of her eyes. Perhaps she realised that between the bullet holes and the wound to her head she was not as invincible as she'd previously believed. Perhaps she had a change of heart, but I doubted it.

"You haven't seen the last of me!" she declared in classic evil-doer cliche. She was walking away and I almost vomited with relief. I hoped I had seen the last of her. I hoped I never saw her again. I hoped she disappeared and choked on her own spittle.

Mrs. Metalhead got half way down the street and then stopped. I frowned, eyebrows digging together. She wasn't coming back was she?

She'd raised her hands to her neck and was clawing at her spiky studded collar. Maybe she was just taking it off. Then I realised she was choking. The sounds of coughing and gagging filtered down the street between alarm wails.

"Shit," said Donnie. He hefted me up from the ground by my collar, "She couldn't do that five minutes ago?"

Mrs. Metalhead slumped to the ground. For a few minutes she clawed at the bitumen, then went deadly still.

"Oh my god," I said, and stared. Then I looked at Donnie and said quietly, "I was just hoping she'd choke to death."

Donnie looked at me.

"Me too," he said.

I looked at him and narrowed my eyes suspiciously, "Did you do that?" I didn't have a good track record with blokes who suddenly aquired superpowers.

Donnie looked back at me and arched an eyebrow.

"Dunno," he said, "Did you?"

I didn't know, and that was confusing. I figured someone who could make another person choke to death using only the power of their mind would surely know when they were doing it. I didn't think Donnie was the kind of guy to hold out on me either. Maybe it was just pure coincidence. Maybe my luck really was that good.

Donnie looked down at the street strewn with the wreckage of my car.

"She levelled the Mercury," he said seriously.

"I know," I replied, distraught, "I never got to thank her for it!"

Donnie chuckled and motioned inside, "Let's get out of here." I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do more.

"I need a weapon," I said as Donnie picked up his shotgun and walked to the door, "In the morning, you're taking me out to buy a gun. No. _Two_ guns."

"Sure," said Donnie, "I'll show you how to get properly licensed too."

"Sure. I meant to do that."

"Yeah right," he said, "By the way, I like your pajamas."

Probably you're wondering how even then I could be so completely blind to what was happening to me. It was only then that suspicion had come fluttering through the corners of my mind. Something wasn't quite right with me, but I still couldn't put my finger on what.

It took another three weeks for me to realise I had choked Mrs. Metalhead. I'd been the one to set Mr. Metalhead on fire too.

True realisation only came to me the day the insurance company put a cheque in my hand. The Mercury was a piece of junk. The insurance payout on junk was probably not enough to buy Donnie a second-hand television set.

I stood in the office nervously waiting for my insuring agent to return with a cheque. I wished for a $10 000 cheque. I wished for it more than I wished for my refrigerator to be magically stocked and for my skinny jeans to mysteriously start fitting me again. I even wished for it more than I wished for Kenny the Plumber to be caught on national television with his dongle caught in a drainpipe.

Nobody gets a $10 000 cheque for a car that already had two tyres in the grave.

Nobody.

But I did.

It's kind of scary to know what one can do with the power of only a stray thought.

My name is Kate Lowe, but these days people call me Subliminal Charm.


	2. Chapter 2

I stood outside and looked up through my Dirty Dog sunglasses at the front door of 72 Johnson Street. The windows were dark and the day was bright. I was wearing rhinestone studded designer jeans and a low cut red silk blouse, complete with black knee high boots. The outfit represented my biggest spending spree in about five years and was bought with a purpose.

Three weeks ago I discovered I was a superhero.

Ok so I was a little slow on the uptake, and my special powers left something to be desired, but for the first time in a long time I was feeling pumped and ready for action.

I hadn't done all that much in the three weeks since my discovery. I kept thinking I should probably go out and kick some evildoer butt and then chickening out on the sofa. Trouble was, I didn't know where to start. I've never kicked butt my whole life. Probably I figured this superhero stuff was better off starting out slow. No sense bumbling into some world threatening catatrophe and completely messing it up, right?

So that was how I'd ended up here, standing in front of the house of Kenny the Plumber.

Kenny the Plumber was my ex boyfriend turned superhero. I hadn't seen him since I'd gained my own powers and doubted he's heard of them considering I was still in the process of convincing myself they existed.

Kenny still lived in our old house, because it was his house. He bought it in his name, even though I contributed my own fair share for three years out of my minimum wage waitress salary. Then I magically got into law school, Kenny turned superjerk and kicked me out on the curb.

For nearly six months I'd been licking my wounds on Smith Street in the slums of Metropolis but now I was back with a vicious sense of justice swelling in my chest. I'm a stauch believer that every woman has at least one ex boyfriend they love to hate and Kenny the Plumber was mine.

Unconsciously my right hand drifted down and gripped the handle of my Desert Eagle. I had two - one for each hand. I was still uncertain about packing heat whilst in the vicinity of Kenny. I thought maybe it was tempting fate. I was afraid I might actually be tempted to kill him and end up on the wrong side of a jail cell.

As alluring as it was, I didn't actually want to kill Kenny. Maybe frighten him a little if I was lucky. Of course probably, knowing my luck, guns wouldn't work on Kenny anyway. He was a superhero now. Probably he was bulletproof.

I stalked up to the door and rapped loudly with renewed force. Today was the day I took that first step. Control of my life was now squarely back in my hands. I am woman, hear me roar.

Five minutes later Kenny opened the door. It was 2pm in the afternoon and he looked like he'd been sleeping. His blonde hair was ruffled all over the place and his baby blue eyes were crusted with sleep. He squinted at me through the daylight.

"What the hell?" Kenny stood in the doorway looking puzzled. He was wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. His shoulders had always been broad and well-muscled, but in the six months since I'd left he'd also worked his beer belly down into a six pack.

I ground my teeth and hated him some more.

"I'm here for my Linkin Park cd," I told him.

"What!" said Kenny, stupified.

"I said I'm here for my Linkin Park cd. You know, the one I accidentally left behind when you kicked me out of the house. Maybe you don't remember that incident?" I had my hands on my hips. Kenny looked at me like maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was.

Of course I wouldn't expect Kenny to understand.

"Are you freakin' kidding me?" Kenny asked, "What time is it anyway?" He shaded his eyes from the sun as though it might burn.

"It's 2pm in the afternoon Kenny," I dutifully informed him, hands on hips.

"Yeah well, I was up all night saving the city," Kenny griped, "That shit takes its toll you know. Just because I'm a superhero don't mean I don't gotta sleep and eat. I still shit bricks not roses." Oh boy, I thought, that was more than enough information.

"Are you going to give me my cd or what?" Patience is not my strong suit.

"Fine," said Kenny "Whatever." He opened the door wide enough for me to slide through. I stepped into the hallway and appraised my old living space. My couch was still in the corner. It was covered in empty coke bottles and crusty pizza boxes.

"Nommy," I said.

"Just get your stupid cd and get out will you." Kenny stood by the doorway looking irritated.

I revelled in the moment, "Where is it?"

Kenny exploded, "I don't fricken know where it is,do I? What do I look like, Mr. Find-it? Geez. It's a cd. It's probably in the cabinet with all the other cds."

I sauntered over to the cd cabinet figuring his idea had merit and that the deduction probably hadn't required Sherlock Holmes. Opening the doors to the cabinet, I bent down and rifled through the cds.

"Find a clue while you're in there?" Kenny suggested.

"No," I said, "Get a life."

"I got one. Now it's your turn." I didn't even look as I flashed him the italian salute. Then I found my cd. I squeeled like a girl and pulled it out of the cabinet.

"My Linkin Park!"

"Brilliant," said Kenny, "Now get out." I ignored him and did a little dance of joy in his living room. Sure it was only a cd, but for six months I had been without it. And for six months every time I passed the gap in my collection I thought I should go retrieve it. Then I thought of Kenny and suddenly I was too busy. I had cleaning to do. I had to scrub my sink and dust the top of the tv cabinet. I was hungry and if I didn't cook dinner now it would be too late by the time I got back. Best leave it for another day.

As much as I convinced myself I had good reasons for putting it off, there was always that little voice in my stomach that said, "Chicken." It had gotten to the point that this one little cd represented more than the sum of its parts.

And now I was standing in Kenny's living room holding it in my little grubby hands doing a tragic rendition of the robot dance.

Kenny glared at me, then his eyes narrowed on my waist.

"Jesus," he swore, "Are you carrying?" I stopped dancing.

"Oh yeah," I told him, "I got this nice little Desert Eagle." I pulled the right gun out of the holster to show him.

"Don't you dare point that thing at me," Kenny said, and edged away.

"Why not?" I asked, "You're indestructible right?" I held the gun up and pointed in his direction. I swear I wasn't going to shoot him.

"Shit," said Kenny, and suddenly he was gone. One moment he was there, the next second nada. I looked up the hall and into the lounge. Empty.

"Kenny?"

Kenny's disembodied voice came from all around me. It was everywhere and nowhere at once. "Get out of my house Kate," he said.

Well fine. I put my gun back in the holster and, hugging the cd, I flounced out his front door. I was feeling pretty peachy with myself. A little bounce in my step and I walked across the sidewalk.

I stopped on the pavement and smiled at my little Mazda Eunos parked on the curb. Six months ago I'd been driving a 1970s Mercury bobcat. The Mercury had less life than a cemetary. It drove like a risen corpse too - cumbersome and without much force. For years I'd wanted to put it out of its misery and when it finally died, I'd replaced it with the Eunos.

The Eunos was small and sporty. It represented my new life. It was pure white and purred like a kitten. It was new used, and sometimes choked on a hairball, but I wasn't going to let that slow me down.

I slid behind the steering wheel and started her up. Goofy smile plastered over my face, I fed the cd into the player and cranked the volume. Johnson Street crossed over Main and I took that all the way to the police station and pulled up in the parking lot.

The passenger door was opened by an orange haired cop still in uniform. He slid in beside me, cringed, then turned off the music.

"You're late."

"Sorry. I got caught up." The police officer was Donnie Zabrowski, my neighbour. Donnie is 5'10, stocky and ten years my senior. He also loves football, but I don't hold that against him.

Donnie Zabrowski is the bomb. At least as far as I'm concerned he is. He helped me move my entire apartment of furniture up two stories of stairs before he even knew my name. He's saved my life before and every Friday he brings me pizza. For these things, I hold Donnie somewhere in the vicinity of heavenly angel.

It life was fair, I reasoned, it would have given Donnie superpowers and Kenny a toilet brush.

But life wasn't fair. People weren't perfect and neither were heroes. Those that thought they were without sin were placed in the same category as seventeen year old virgins and seventy year old grannies who still honestly believed they could win millions on a two cent pokie machine - blissful idealistic naivety.

I pulled out of the police station with Donnie and cruised down the road to the firing range. Donnie had already taken me a couple of times to the range so I'd get used to the guns, but I figured if I was going to start being a superhero then more practice was better.

Fortunately I was a natural. Donnie had fifteen years as a cop under his belt and after five hours I still had straighter aim than he did. We started a little competition with distance and movement. I plastered every one of my bullets straight through the bulls eye on my little paper person.

Donnie pulled off his earmuffs in frustration and stared at my paper man.

"You missed one," he said, pointing to what looked like an errant shot.

"I didn't miss," I told him, "I was channeling Kenny at the time." Donnie took another look at the hole. It was three quarters the way down the paper, located about the place the groin would be.

"Geez," he shook his head, "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

I rocked back on my heels, "Good enough to be a superhero then?"

Donnie said, "What?"

"I'm thinking about being a superhero," I repeated. Then, because he looked at me funny, I repeated it slowly just in case his hearing was shot, "I'm going to be a superhero."

"Have you been drinking?" asked Donnie.

"No. Why?"

"You're crazy."

"No I'm not," I said defensively, "I have superpowers."

"Yeah right." Donnie usually reserves that tone for when he knows that I'm lying.

"I do," I insisted, "I can make people do things with the power of my mind. I set that guy on fire, I made Mrs. Metalhead choke herself and I convinced my insurance agent to give me $10 000 for the bobcat. Plus I got my Linkin Park cd back from Kenny."

Donnie put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes, leveling with me serious style, "That guy set himself on fire with his cigarette. Mrs. Metalhead was a freak accident, and as for the insurance agency, that was probably just your subliminal charm. Especially if you were wearing that shirt at the time." He didn't mention Kenny and my cd. It resided as my one unexplained phenomenal claim to fame.

"Hmmph," I said, "Fine. Don't believe me then." Donnie patted me on the shoulder in consolation. I ignored his comment about my shirt. Instead I channeled all my Kenny rage and aimed it at Donnie.

"Dance the funky chicken and bark like a dog," I ordered.

Donnie's eyebrows shot to the sky, "What?" Was he deaf? Old age must have been setting in.

"Dance the funky chicken and bark like a dog."

Donnie looked down at his arms, then his shoes, then back up at me, "You're crazy."

"Bah," I said, "That attempt doesn't count. I was only half serious."

"Yeah right."

We packed up and got back into the Eunos. Donnie checked his watch to make sure he hadn't missed the game. It was still early enough to be light but the day was shedding its wound down the main blocks of Metropolis City and shot out into urban suburbia. I took one look at my fuel gauge and told Donnie I needed to stop for gas.

"Sure," he said, "As long as you get doritos too." I pulled into the petrol station and up to the hose.

"I only got five bucks for petrol," I told him.

Donnie flicked a twenty dollar note out of his pocket and waved it in my direction.

"Doritos," he said, then he got solemn, "Now this here twenty dollar note represents at least three packets of crisps, two bottles of Pepsi and a king size chocolate bar. I see you coming out with anything less and I'll probably get cranky." He leveled serious cop face at me but none of it reached his eyes, which were playing.

I took the twenty dollar note out of his hands with mocking sobriety.

"Do you think this twenty dollar note represents three packets of crisps, two bottles of Pepsi and _two_ king sized chocolate bars?" I asked.

"Only if I get to see the game." That was good enough for me. We both knew Donnie was going to see the game regardless.

I jumped out of the car and spun around to the pump. Removing the cap to my tank, I pressed the lever for gas. Nothing came out. The numbers on the machine indicated that the attendant hadn't pressed the little button at the counter to reset the pump yet.

I look up at the cashier desk in the store. The attendant was leaning against the counter. He looked like he was resting with his eyes closed. I waved to try and get his attention, but he ignored me. I hmmphed and stomped into the store.

Half way down the aisle I realised something was wrong. The attendant had slipped and was now completely slumped over the counter. There was a dangerous wound in his forehead that looked like a bullet hole. The till was open and emptied and candy bars were strewn all over the counter.

I looked around for the culprit but the shop was empty. For two heart thumping seconds I thought the attacker had fled, then I heard a kerthunk from the back room and someone appeared in the doorway.

He was tall and lean, wearing faded torn jeans and a blue tank top. He stopped in the doorway in surprise and we both eyed each other up.

"Boo," he finally said. I nearly peed my pants.

"Did you do this?" I finally asked, finding my superhero serious voice.

"Wasn't me." _Sure_. His refusal to look around the room at the carnage gave away that fact he was lying.

"D'you see who did?"

"Nope." I didn't believe one word of it. The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He flipped one out of the packet and into his mouth, then guarded the flame of his lighter as he lit it. He looked at me nonchalently and puffed on his smoke.

Ok so now was the time to act. Actually two minutes ago when he'd first walked through the door was the time to act, but I was a slow learner.

I reached down and pulled out my gun, then pointed it in his direction.

"Put your hands up," I said, "You're coming with me quietly to the police station."

He looked at me skeptically, "Now why would I want to do that?"

"Because," I informed him, "I'm pointing a gun at you."

"I can see that." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I could blow you away."

"Sunshine," he told me, "I don't think you could hit a purple cow at point blank range."

I glared at him and felt my finger squeeze the trigger, "I'm pretty good on the shooting range."

"I'll bet you are sugar, but until you stop shooting with your mouth first and your gun second, you aint gonna hit shit." I might have shot him if he hadn't been right. No sense shooting a man for being honest.

"I don't need to shoot you anyway," I said, lowering my gun, "I've got special mind control powers."

"No shit!" he said. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it into the laminate, "I've got to see this."

I levelled my gaze at him, "You _will_ come to the police station with me." We both waited for magic. Nothing happened.

"Nope," said the stranger, "Guess not today." A car door slammed and five seconds later Donnie appeared in the doorway.

"What's taking so long?" he asked from the other side of the store. He took one look down the aisle and his cop senses must have kicked in. Donnie reached for his gun.

The servo stranger took two steps and grabbed me from behind. He took my arm and twisted until my grip involuntarily loosened on the Desert Eagle. Then he grabbed my gun and prodded my forehead with it.

"Back off bacon," he told Donnie, "Or your little missus gets it."

"I am _so_ not his missus," I said, "And you are _not_ shooting me with my own gun."

"Sorry sunshine," said servo stranger, "I like you but not that much."

Donnie and the stranger eyeballed each other. Then there was the unmistakeable roar of a car starting and my little Mazda Eunos peeled out of the garage. I stared after it with my mouth hanging open. Donnie was in the store, and I was in the store, and we were the only two people who had been in the car.

"You didn't leave your keys in the car did you?" said Donnie incredulously.

"Please," I said, feeling slighted. I held up the car keys still in my hand.

"I don't fucking believe it," declared servo stranger. He was still holding a gun to my forehead and now he sounded pissed off. This didn't bode well.

"That fucking weazel," he ranted, "I told him to stay calm. Yeah I'll be calm he says. First he fucking shoots the attendant and now he pisses off and leaves me here with a copper."

I was confused. Donnie was too. "I didn't see anyone else leave the store," he said.

"Of course you wouldn't fucking see him. He's invisible, isn't he!" Great, I thought, the invisible man knocking off servos and engaging in grand theft auto. Wasn't the world just dandy. And my day had started out so good...

"Somebody stole my car." I stared at the empty gas station in shock. The reflection in the glass told me I was channeling goldfish face, "Somebody STOLE _my_ car!" My lovely little Mazda Eunos. Gone. In under two minutes.

Suddenly I was really angry. Seriously, I thought, how much could one person take in a day. I thought of all those wasted years patiently waiting for the bobcat to kick the bucket and gnashed my teeth.

"I am so going to find that guy," I growled at the store window, "And when I do he's going to wish he'd shot himself." Donnie actually took an involuntary step backwards. Donnie is not just a cop, he's a Metropolis City cop. He's stared down more evil in one day than I could imagine in my whole life. I must have looked scary.

Behind me, I heard servo guy go, "Erp." Then the gun left my forehead. Donnie was frowning at him from down the aisle.

I turned and looked at servo guy. His arm was crooked and he was convulsing slightly. He was still holding my gun, but the barrel was slowly starting to aim at himself.

"Cripes," he gasped, then shook like he was being electrocuted. Suddenly his hand unclenched and he dropped the gun. The impact of hitting the floor set it off with a loud boom. A hole appeared in a packet of cheetos and munchies started spilling over the aisle floor.

"What the hell!" said servo guy. He was already half bent over trying to pick up the gun again, "Keep that thing away from me!"

I figured he meant the gun and bent to retrieve it. The look on servo guys face only slightly relaxed.

"What's going on?" demanded Donnie, striding down the aisle.

"I just nearly shot myself!"

"Well why didn't you finish the job?"

Servo guy shot Donnie a dangerous look. You could have fried bacon with that look. "I'm serious. Keep that thing away from me. I can't control it." His hand shuddered and convulsed, and did its best impression of having a mind of its own.

"Holy hell," said Donnie.

"See. I told you! I have powers." Both of them looked at me blankly, the light in their eyes slowly dawning.

"This is fucking nuts," servo guy sounded desperate, "How long does it last."

"I don't actually know," I informed him.

"Shit." He looked at his hand. His hand looked at him. The whole thing was creepy.

"Maybe you better take me in to the station," he told Donnie.

"Serious?" Donnie, amazed.

"Hell yeah. Maybe you can lock my arm up to one of those metal bars. I don't care. Just get me away from her."

"No problem." In two seconds Donnie had his phone to his ear and the police dispatch on the way. We were standing in the middle of a crime scene with a potential suspect and murderer who was begging to be taken in. I wondered how often in Donnie's career he'd had this happen.

It took only ten minutes for the Metropolis City police to get there, but several hours more for them to stop questioning me. I reported my missing car, then waited for Donnie so he could drive me home in his unmarked police car. I slumped even further down in my seat when I realised we'd forgotten the chocolate bars.

"Do you realise what you did?" Donnie asked me incredulously, flooring it into the industrial zone.

"Yeah," I said, "I nearly made some guy shoot himself. Isn't it awesome!" Donnie glanced at me with a look somewhere between concerned and fearful.

"Well obviously I didn't mean it that way," I said.

"You can make people do what you think," Donnie, worried, marveled. I guess he had a right too. When you looked at it that way, it was kinda scary.

"Yeah." I slumped back down in my seat, "Are we still on for the Friday night game?"

Donnie mulled over it seriously. He seemed to take a long time. For a minute, I thought he was going to say no.

"Yeah sure. Why not." I felt tension roll out of me in waves.

"Just don't make me dance the funky chicken," he warned.

"No sir." I mock saluted. Then I thought about my little Mazda Eunos and was sad, "What am I going to do about my car?"

"Speak to the insurance agency again," suggested Donnie, "I'm sure you'll get another cheque."

"Yeah. I remember. My subliminal charm."

"Yeah right," said Donnie.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Friday morning and I was in in the middle of my final exam. The Metropolis University hall was filled with hundreds of fellow law students eager to make their mark and prove their legal worth. The hush of the room was spoiled only by a quiet murmer of someone muttering in the background. Flush with nervousness, I looked around the room then opened my exam booklet.

I couldn't read the exam booklet and didn't know why. It took me a whole three minutes to realise it was written in gibberish.

I panicked.

I can't read gibberish. I'm verbally fluent in it. The same way I'm practiced in talking rubbish and shit and can recognise when someone is blowing hot air up my ass. But reading gibberish is a whole different ball game and completely beyond my capabilities.

I looked down at my knees, searching for inspiration, then suddenly realised my legs were bare. I wasn't wearing pants. Wait a minute...

I wasn't wearing anything at all.

Before I could finish freaking out, a phone rang. Since we were all the middle of an exam, I thought this was especially rude. Phones should be turned off. It was disrupting my concentration and drawing unnecessary attention to my nakedness.

The phone rang again and I woke with a start. I was at home in bed and the phone was ringing. I ripped off the bed covers and checked.

Yep I was wearing pajamas.

I fumbled around bleary-eyed until my hand landed on the phone. The clock said 6am.

"Hello?" I asked the receiver, "This better be good."

"We found your car."

I sat bolt upright in bed. This was the best news I'd had all week.

The voice was Donnie Zabrowsky. Donnie was my neighbour, and he was a cop. For nearly a week he'd been on the look out for my car, after it was stolen outside a service station. The fact that it had been stolen by an invisible man whilst some scumbag held a gun to my head spoke volumes about my life.

I was supposed to be a newly created superhero. My success rate at deterring crime so far was... unpredictable.

Getting my car back would be a definite positive step. Of all the super powers I could have been blessed with, super speed was not one of them. A superhero who had to catch the bus didn't strike me as particularly threatening.

"Meet me outside the station," Donnie told me on the phone. Then before I could ask how I would get there, he hung up. Donnie is not the kind of guy to waste words on the phone.

The knowledge that my car had been found motivated me into action. I leapt out of bed and practically floated to the door. When I got to the door and realised the handle was at least thirty centimetres lower than expected, I looked down.

I wasn't practically floating. I was actually floating.

This put a whole new perspective on things. I was so shocked I did a double take, and then I fell down.

Thirty centimetres isn't very far to fall, but of course I landed oddly, tripped, then fell on my bum. I sat on the floor too stunned to form words, which is pretty much how I am most of the time.

I had flown! Levitated! Whatever...

This was a new power. A solid power. Not some mental hoojickey that may or may not exist.

I am Kate Lowe, Subliminal Charm! Let criminals everywhere quiver and shake in their boots at the mere mention of my name, for I will follow them wherever they dare to hide!

Also, my leg kind of hurts.

My ankle was already swelling. I'd twisted it and probably sprained it. Nothing felt broken. Maybe I could develop magical fast-paced healing abilities now?

Ok... now.

Wait for iiiiiit.

Now?

Well fuck me.

I grabbed hold of the bed and pulled myself upright. I showered, got changed and limped into the kitchen for a triple chocolate crunchy nut protein bar. I had protein bars now because everybody knew superheros should be beefed up. Even the female superheros could not be excused if they were weedy. The packaging swore up and down that the triple chocolate crunchy bit did not subtract from its many vast nutritional achievements and I had chosen to believe it.

Why? You wanna make an issue of it?

After the triple chocolate crunchy nut protein bar I figured I'd be choc full of crunchy goodness and enough energy to replicate the levitation incident. Since I wasn't sure how I'd achieved it in the first place, I had a broad spectrum of things to try and infinite opportunity to be successful.

At least that's what I told myself as I stared at my feet and concentrated on levitating.

Nothing happened.

I concentrated on how much my ankle hurt and how much I didn't want to have to walk to the bus stop and catch public transport.

My ankle started throbbing. No levitating occurred.

Hmmmph. I didn't have time for this. And what kind of superpower was levitation anyway? It wasn't nearly so cool as say blowing things up or having lazer eyes.

"You stink," I told my feet. They didn't respond nor appear offended so I wedged them into a pair of sneakers and limped out the door.

The bus stop for the 79 sits on Main street about six hundred metres from my apartment complex on Smith Street. So far I have only caught the 79 once and I count the fact that I am still alive as one of my greatest achievements.

The number 79 bus is the public transport equivalent of the abandoned shed behind the football oval in high school. It's the place where people go to bum smokes, buy drugs and share bodily fluids. You can see things on the 79 that you would be ashamed to tell others about.

The bus driver is a hairy bearded bikie with a lead foot and poor hygiene.

Fortunately the bus seemed quiet today. I jumped on, bought my ticket and slid past the old lady who was muttering to herself and clutching four hundred plastic bags. There was a teenager at the back of the bus who was holding a paper bag and looked like he was sniffing something in it.

I chose to sit half way down, opposite a blonde guy in his mid twenties. He looked like the safest person on board. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and seemed relatively normal.

His eyes were hidden behind an awesome pair of face hugging Oakleys. Blondie flashed me a million dollar smile and I had to remind myself that the type of people who catch the 79 are not generally flirting material. Of course this didn't say very much for me either.

The bus dropped me on in central Metropolis and I walked the four blocks to Metropolis Police Station. By the time I got there my foot was swollen enough to make my shoes feel tight, my ankle was screaming blue murder and I was cursing the dirty scumbag who'd stolen my car.

Donnie was waiting for me in the station parking lot next to a beat up blue and white police car. I didn't ask why he couldn't come and pick me up straight from my apartment, and he took one look at my face and thought better of asking me what had taken so long.

"Where's my car?' I asked, searching the station carpark and coming up trumps.

"C'mon," said Donnie, "I'll take you there." He said it as though it were a peace offerring, and he looked concerned and consoling. This instantly got me suspicious.

I got into the cop car, "Exactly what state is my car in?"

"I dunno yet," said Donnie, starting the engine.

Oh boy.

My car had been dumped on the side of the highway out of Metropolis. There were already three policeman there when Donnie pulled up.

One was directing traffic because evidently the general public are too stupid to drive around a vehicle on the side of the road without assistance. The other two were eyeing up my car with one taking notes.

Donnie waltzed up to the note taker. I shuffled and tried to favour my good leg.

"This the owner?" the note taker asked Donnie.

"Yeah," replied Donnie, "Reported it stolen last week."

"Of course," said the note taker as if he didn't believe it.

I looked over my car. Someone had clearly been joyriding in it. There was a huge scratch that stretched the length of the car down the left side and one of the side mirrors was smashed. The front end of the car was crumpled and someone had scrawled obscene messages on the windows.

I felt my lower lip quiver.

"It's ok," said Donnie. He put his arm around my shoulder and guided me towards the car. I couldn't remember Donnie ever putting his arm around my shoulder. "This is all completely repairable," he assured me.

Well if Donnie said it, it must be true.

"Does the note on the back mean anything?" the other office asked. He pointed his pen at the rear windscreen.

Someone had scrawled across in big red drippy letters, "I'm watching you."

"Creepy," said Donnie.

"Thought it might mean something," said the note taker.

Everybody looked at me.

The note was definitely creepy, but since I didn't really know the guy who had stolen my car I couldn't think of anything really good to explain it. I shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Hmmm," said Donnie, "Let's open the trunk. You got the keys?" Everybody looked at me again. I wasn't too thrilled with the attention. I reached into my pocket for the keys. My hands came out empty. I tried my industrial sized handbag. I pulled out my wallet, my phone, my house keys, mints, cough lozenges, tampons, lip balm, tissues, spare ammo for my Desert Eagles, pepper spray and a handful of pens but no car keys.

The four male police officers looked at me like I'd dropped down from Mars.

"Uhhh," I informed them, starting to blush, "I guess I left them at home." There was a moment of silence as they all bit their tongues to keep from making some gender related wisecrack.

"No problem." One of the fellow police officers finally broke the silence, "I've been waiting all day to use this." He held up a crowbar.

"Sweet," said Donnie.

I said, "Gulp."

They planted the end of the crowbar between the trunk lid and the bumper. The lid groaned in defiance for a few minutes before it finally crashed open with a bang. Donnie and the other cop peered in side. I was standing five metres away out of the line of any flying trunk lid debris and couldn't see.

"Hmmm," said Donnie.

"Damn," said the other cop.

"What?" I asked in concern, then when Donnie didn't reply, "What is it!"

Donnie came over to me and put his arm back around my shoulder, steering me away. "C'mon," he said, "Let's go get a drink. This might take a while."

"What's in my trunk Donnie?" I tried to dodge around him.

He caught me easily, "You don't want to see." I shot him a dirty glare and scrambled out of his grip on my shirt. He didn't try to stop me the second time from approaching my car.

I looked in the trunk. It was mostly empty. Except. Well. Mostly empty.

There was an eye. In the middle of my trunk was a disembodied eye. It had little entrailing bits out the back that looked slithery and seemed to tremble in the slight breeze.

I looked at the eye, and the eye looked at me.

I'm watching you.

"Oh my god," I said, "I think I need to sit down." Donnie led me away from my car towards the bushes. He said me down on the grass and pushed my head between my knees. I took big gulps of air until the dizziness passed and wondered why someone would want to put an eye in my car.

Heck I wasn't even that interesting to watch.

"You alright," asked Donnie, when I'd started breathing easier.

I responded with a question, "I'm not getting my car back, am I?"

"Not anytime soon."

"It's ok," I told him, "I don't want it. You can keep it."

I sat in Donnie's cop car until he was done at the scene of my car. As far as I was concerned, my car was deceased. This was the scene of a murder. Some cold-blooded soul had tortured my Eunos, traumatised it, and then dumped it in a ditch on the side of the road.

And then they had put a disembodied eye in it, and whatever had happened to the owner of that eye I didn't even want to think about.

Donnie slid behind the wheel and drove us back to the police station.

"C'mon," he told me, and ruffled my hair, "Let's get the paperwork done and then I'll take you out for pizza." Pizza sounded good. Chocolate mousse and icecream sounded better. The chocolate crunchy nut protein bar in my stomach gurgled unpleasantly.

We left the car and walked into the station. I hadn't been in too many times and the bustling busy vibe took me off guard. It felt like some place where everybody had somewhere to go quick without much being achieved.

"Grab a seat here for a minute and don't move." Donnie directed me into one of those uncomfortable plastic bench seats made to hold the public masses in queue in the hopes that they'd eventually give up waiting and leave.

Then he disappeared into the throng. A creature in its natural habitat.

"Sure. Why not?" I told the empty space where Donnie had been. I sat on the chair. An alarmed yelp came from nearby.

"I don't fricken' believe it. I thought I said you keep her away from me. Are you freakin' kidding me?" I turned to the source of the voice and found a tall guy with black ruffled hair in a beat up bomber jacket. I recognised him as the guy who'd held a gun to my head not one week before. His right hand was spasming and probably it had something to do with me but I wasn't too beat up about it.

There was a cop standing with him looking confused.

I looked at servo stranger guy, smiled my best winner and gave him a little pinkie finger wave, "Hi there." Servo stranger narrowed his eyes and looked peeved.

"That bitch is trying to kill me," he informed his cop buddy.

I couldn't blame him. This was not entirely untrue. Actually I was trying to kill his partner who had made off with my car. Unfortunately my talents aren't always accurate and now servo stranger was cursed with the uncontrollable desire to shoot himself. So far he'd survived by being in jail.

"You're not letting him out, are you?" I asked the cop that was with him.

The copy shrugged, "He made bail."

"Are you serious!" I said, talking more to servo guy now, "You can't go out. You'll be dead in like thirty seconds. Heck I'm carrying. You could steal my guns. Shit, get away from me!"

"See," said servo guy, "This is exactly what I mean. That woman is cursed. I changed my mind. Put me back in. I don't wanna go." His right hand had curled into a claw and his left eye was twitching.

The attending policeman looked between us, clearly confused.

I threw up my hands, "It's alright. I'm leaving. Tell Donnie he knows where to find me. He can bring me the paperwork home if he has to."

I stalked out the door and was half way across the carpark when I remembered the pizza. _Dammit_.

I loitered in the carpark for a few minutes impatiently listening to my brain argue with my stomach over what was important. Eventually my stomach won so I meandered over and leaned against the bonnet of Donnie's cop car until he came out.

Donnie trudged over to me. "I'm sure this is not where I left you," he said.

"I need that pizza now," I told him.

"Yes ma'am," he saluted. Donnie looked at his watch, "It's still early."

"I'm in mourning," I said.

After pizza Donnie had to go back to work. He went armed with a truck load of paperwork that would probably get lost in the bowels of the precinct never to be seen again. Since I still didn't have a car and was now on my own, that left me back where I started - the bus.

The bus ride home felt a bit like deja vu. The same bus driver was driving and the same crazy old bag lady was sitting up the front. The sniffer up the back was missing but the blonde guy got on just one stop after I did and wandered down the aisle. He took a seat opposite me again. He was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt, but now he had acquired a blue sports jacket.

"Hey, weren't you on this morning." He threw me another winning smile. He was easy enough on the eyes that I was flattered he remembered me. I figured after the day I had maybe it was time to forgive him the poor choice of transportation and flirt back. After all, I was catching the same dodgy bus route.

"Uh, yeah," I said. Sometimes my verbal powers of communication amaze even me.

Blondie leaned over his seat and extended an arm. Even behind the sunnies I could tell his eyes were smiling. He held a relaxed charm. "Name's Ed," he said.

I shook his hand. He had a firm grip and warm hands, "Kate."

"_Nice_," he said, as if my name was so awesome that it automatically implied I must be awesome too, "You catch the bus often?"

I twisted a stray lock of hair behind my ears and tried not to look embarrassed, "Not usually, but I'm having some issues with my regular method of transportation."

"I hear ya," said Ed. He cast a nervous glance down the bus in the direction of the driver. I could totally understand his unease. Maybe Ed's car was stolen too.

"Hey," said Ed, leaning over in my direction, "Do you think you could help me out?" I'm automatically suspicious of people who ask for help within five minutes of meeting me, but who was I to judge until I'd heard his request. Maybe this was the start of a pick-up line. Maybe he was going to confess he desperately needed a dinner date and ask for my number. These things were unlikely but not impossible, and I'd never know if I didn't let him ask.

"Maybe," I responded, "What do you need?"

Ed looked nervous. He shakily unzipped his jacket, "Can you tell me what the numbers read? I can't see them upside down."

I looked down at his shirt. Some sort of electronic device was strapped to his chest. There was a small digital display in the middle. A bunch of numbers was scrawled across it and the last number was slowly flickering, changing. My brain was numbed. I felt that odd sensation when you know your mind is processing events too slowly to keep up. I couldn't seem to find any way to speed up the neurons and instead kept getting caught in a loop going nowhere.

Ed was looking at my face with deadpan concern.

"Is it really long?" he asked, "I don't want to wait a really long time." I was still staring blankly at his chest.

_**Bomb**_. Neurons crashed together and the word exploded in my head, echoing in all the little dusty corners of my mind that usually remained inactive.

"Holy shit!" I said, "You've got a bomb."

"What!" shouted the crazy bag lady down the bus, "Bomb!"

"Shhhhhh!" Ed hushed me. He'd suddenly developed a crazy gleam in his sunglasses, "Quiet or they'll all want one!"

"Did you say bomb!" bawled the bag lady. She waved her walking stick in our direction. I thought I heard the bus driver swear and swerve to miss a taxi. The bus tilted just as the bag lady was getting up. She flailed, shrieked, and plastic bags flew everywhere. Half of them were upside down. They hung in the air like mini blimps and the air conditioning vents blew them down the aisle towards us.

"Wow," gushed Ed, "I knew this was a special occasion but you didn't need to bring balloons."

I was already getting out of my seat and backing down the aisle towards the door and the driver. The plastic bags battered against my head and I flung them away. Somehow I regained enough brainpower to check Ed's digital readout before I got too far away to read it. I tried to work out the seconds and milliseconds thundering past, but couldn't. Either we had five minutes, or five hours, I wasn't sure which.

"Oh my god," I said, and ran to the front of the bus.

"There's a bomb on the bus," I told the bus driver. I used my best cool, carm, collected superhero voice I could muster. It came out squeeky and high pitched.

The bus driver was weaving through peak hour traffic on Main Street. The lights were green and traffic was banked up through the intersection. Somebody honked their horn and I saw a double finger wave being flashed out the window of a green stationwagon. The bus driver looked tense and harassed.

"Lady," he said, "I saw that movie and it wasn't that good. Get back in your seat and sit down." I couldn't believe it. There was a bomb on the bus and he didn't believe me. Worse yet, he thought I was causing a scene.

"I'm dead serious," I squawked indignantly, "The guy up the back has a bomb strapped to his chest."

"You might be serious," the bus driver informed me, "But you aren't dead." Then he looked me squarely in the eye, "Yet." After that he turned his attention back to the road and ignored me.

Holy moley. We were all going to be blowed up. I could have less than five hours to live. I could have less than five minutes. Somebody had to do something, and quick. I put my hands on my knees and started hyperventilating. It took me another two minutes to remember I was the one who was supposed to be a superhero. I was the one who was supposed to be saving the day.

_Oh shit._

I turned back the bus to find the bag lady pointing and waving her stick at Ed.

"That's some lame-ass bomb you got there," she told him, "I seen bigger explosives in my mail box. Hell when I was your age, I _put_ bigger explosives in mail boxes."

"It's big enough," said Ed, affronted.

"You aint going to blow up anything with that little thing," crazy bag lady dutifully informed him, "Well, maybe your wanger if you keep slouching like that." I noticed Ed immediately straightened.

"Nobody knows good posture these days," the crazy bag lady went on, "When I was your age, my mother made me stand two hours a day with a Wilson's Encyclopedia on my head just so I wouldn't slouch like that. Can't tell now but I had a good back then. I would never have slouched, not even with a tiddly little bomb like that stuck to my bits."

"It's not tiddly," Ed fretted. I watched the numbers on his display rapidly spiralling downwards and felt a bunch of bright lights and panic alarms go off in my brain.

"You need to stop it," I told him, "You're going to blow us all up."

Ed immediately brightened. "You really think so?" he asked. I screamed inside my head.

In the heat of the moment, I panicked. I really wanted the bomb not to go off, but somehow couldn't muster the faith or even the focus of thought to train my new, highly unstable super powers in Ed's direction.

So in the spur of the moment I did the only thing I could think of.

I picked Ed up and flung him out through the bus window.

On reflection, not the wisest move.

The glass was made of reinforced plastic, but I still threw Ed with enough force to shatter it. Shards sprinkled all over the seats and the road. I heard the bus driver turn in his seat and say something that should never be repeated.

Ed flounced along the pavement on his behind. A crowd of pedestrians splintered around him, then continued on their daily commute without more than a glance. Somehow, miraculously, Ed's bomb did not detonate.

"See," the crazy old bag lady croaked, sucking on her gums, "I told you that bomb was lame-ass."

Ed came to a stop, looking stunned. He peered down at his read out, which was still counting down. We had less than a minute to go. I guess that answered the minutes versus hours question.

I looked up. We were in front of a government building. People were streaming out of the building and Ed was slowly getting swallowed up in the mill of people. He followed my line of vision and noticed the same as I had.

"Sweet," he said, "I'm getting blown up _and_ sticking it to the man."

Ugh. I needed to do something quick. Throwing him out the window hadn't achieved anything except to put him on the pavement in the midst of more potential victims.

I looked around and couldn't think of anything except watching Superman on the news flying circles around the Earth trying to turn back time.

All of a sudden I was in the air and Ed was in my arms. When I'd been hoping for this earlier in the day, I must admit this was not what I'd had in mind. We were going up. I looked down and saw Main Street disappearing. The little people on the sidewalk became miniature and the street cars looked like matchbox models. Apparently I was flying. Now of all times.

Up, up and away, I thought. Then I felt myself falter.

Ed and I stopped in mid air.

"Uh-oh," I told him, "I really don't want to fall."

Ed looked down at his meter. "Damn," he said, "This is going to be so much less fun up here."

"You're probably only going to get me up here," I said, "Maybe you should just turn it off. You can always try again later." Right after I checked him into the crazy ward.

"Hmmm," Ed considered the proposition. He took his sunglasses off and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. I had time enough to notice he only had one eye. It was time enough to freeze my gut.

"Maybe you're right," said Ed. Then he looked down at his time read out. The numbers clicked into place at zero.

"Oh well," said Ed, and then he exploded.

I guess there comes a time in every superhero's life when they drop the ball and don't manage to save everybody. I didn't manage to save Ed, but I suppose I did manage to save all those innocent pedestrians and the crazy lady on the bus. I'd like to know, but I'm not sure how other superheros deal with this kind of failure. In the moment, I handled it the only way I knew how: a mixture of shock and stunned disbelief.

Little pieces of Ed were floating around, wafting in the breeze. I was apparently unscathed. I suddenly recalled this was not the first time a blast in my vicinity had completely failed to affect me. I wished I could have remembered that about five minutes ago.

I looked down, and then I didn't something so completely not out of character that I should have expected it.

I fell.

By the time I got home it was mid afternoon. I'd landed in the ocean just off the Queensland boardwalk and dripped my way home. It was a long walk. There was no way I was catching the bus.

On the way home, I'd dried the components of my mobile phone out and rung my insurance agency. Of course they wanted to wait and assess the damage to my car before contemplating any possibility of me buying a new one. I said something nice to the insurance lady, then told the dial tone what I really thought of her after I'd hung up. Just another joyous moment in another joyous day.

I let myself into my apartment. There was a note taped to my door so I peeled it off and read the contents as I clicked the key in the lock.

The note said: _Hope your day was a blast._ The writing looked an awful lot like the paint on my car. I shuddered and walked through the door.

That's when I noticed. Someone was lying on my couch, and it wasn't Donnie...


End file.
